


Dame Rose, Sir Doctor

by BananasAreForParties



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), doctor - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Anal, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Consensual, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Ten, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff, OTP Feels, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys, Spanking, Sub Rose, Whipping, public display
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananasAreForParties/pseuds/BananasAreForParties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Doctor planned a night at the opera for her pleasure. Dame Rose is on her best behavior. </p>
<p>Content warning for explicit BDSM and flagrant, unapologetic smut. Special thanks to rishidiams for beta'ing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read tags for warnings
> 
> A very special thanks to rishidiams who so kindly beta-ed this fic, cleaning up after my endless typos and straining her back reaching for the dictionary every other page. Everyone, feel free to mail her gifts of smelling salts and paper fans to ward off the vapors. She likes mail. Especially when the doorbell rings mid-edit. 
> 
> Disclaimer: no postmen were injured in the editing of this fic (it was close). 
> 
> For Real Disclaimer: all my fiction is fiction, joyfully written for everyone’s fun, entertainment and cerebral stimulation; please do not interpret any sexual scene as advice or instruction.

The Doctor knocked on Rose’s door and she glanced up into her vanity mirror to see him poking his head around the corner before she could tell him to come in. 

“Are you ready to go, Rose?”

She grinned wide at his reflection. “Touching up my makeup. If you want to come in. . .?”

“Sorry,” he said, sheepishly scratching at the back of his head, but entered anyway. “Very excited for tonight. The greatest opera this side of the Gamma Cluster. ‘Verses and music so sweet, / it brings joy, driving us to weep’. Oh, Rose; you’ll love it.”

She already did. This was almost like a real date. He was dressed in his sexy, unlucky tux and best black Chucks. The TARDIS had helped Rose choose a dress. It had thin straps and trussed up her cleavage with an empire waist. The skirt fell from the bust line to her heels in gossamer, raw silk layers. It was a shade of dusky pink which would match. . . Rose had blushed at the thought of it, but hadn’t hesitated in taking the hint. 

The Doctor waited, hands in his pockets as with one last flick of her mascara wand, Rose declared, “All done.”

He beamed, bouncing on his heels as Rose tightened the cap, pushed out her chair and stood to find the Doctor pulling at an earlobe. 

“What is it?” she asked.

“I was wondering if. . .?” He drew a silvery chain from his pocket, the pink stone glimmering from between his fingers and offered it to her. 

Rose stilled. Her mouth went dry. Shimmering heat traveled to the juncture of her thighs.

“If you want, that is. We don’t have to.”

“Haven’t we landed? We’ll be late.”

The Doctor shook his head ‘no’ and waited for her choice. Ultimately, it was always her choice.

Carefully, Rose nodded, barely finding her voice to say, “Yes.”

Worry and anxiety fell from the Doctor’s shoulders, the tension and weight of his title falling away. His grin shifted from manic to warm as he approached her with the necklace, the pink heart-shaped gem dangling on the silver link chain.

“Wait,” Rose said and he did, at once, freezing in step. “Promise we won’t miss the opera?”

There it was: his full, genuine happiness. “I promise, Rose.”

They were idiots, the two of them, grinning like loons. Rose drew her hair from her neck. The Doctor stood behind her. Close. Close enough for his breath to tickle her ear. “I promise we’ll go so long as you _behave_.”

Rose’s stomach fluttered and her body throbbed as the cold metal and gemstone draped over her skin as a choker. 

“Safeword?” the Doctor asked.

“Pears,” Rose said knowing it was an immediate turn-off for him.

“Signal?”

Tonight _would_ be interesting. “Three knocks.”

He closed the clasp, binding the ends. He kissed her neck with wet, almost drunken kisses as his hands soothed down her neck, shoulders, to her arms. Then the kisses stopped and his hands gripped her arms, directing her to step forward into the middle of the room. He circled her. Inspecting. Rose kept her eyes respectfully averted.

He stopped before her. “Lift up your dress.”

Rose bent, gathering all of the sheer, gauzy layers at her hem before lifting them. To her knees. He didn’t tell her to stop, so she bunched and gathered the fabric. Past her thighs. Exposing her cream-lace panties to him. Higher, past her hips, then belly-button until he said: “Stop.”

She obeyed. 

He dug about in his inner jacket pocket. She wondered if maybe this game might involve his sonic. There was a thought. She’d have to tell him later. It was his brainy specs he removed and slid on as he leaned forward a bit, crossed his arms, considering her damp lace. He must’ve come to a conclusion because he unbuttoned his tux jacket, rolling his shoulders as he shrugged it off.

The Doctor knelt before her, his nose not so very far from her heat. Though, instead of ogling her, he busily laid his jacket on the ground beside him. He raised up on his knees, his cheek dangerously close to her stomach, but not touching. He was pulling items out of his trouser pockets, laying them out on the black jacket. Inventory. Cloth straps with buckles, lubricant, a single nipple clamp but with a short chain attached, and a rounded, white, balloon-like thing that had the appearance of a vibrator given its electronic base. Its round body was interrupted by a small protruding nob near the bottom.

Once he had everything in a row, the Doctor sat back on his haunches, removed his cufflinks and rolled up the crisp, white sleeves. It was a striptease, exposing his wrists and manly, hairy arms. It was not precisely a threat. He was a man about do a messy job and did not want to dirty his sleeves. 

He hooked his fingers under the sides of her panties and pulled them down to her ankles, the crotch leaving a wet trail down the insides of her legs. She waited for him to order her to step out of them (a tricky feat in heels), but the order never came.

“Spread,” he said, “As far as you can.”

Rose obeyed, stretching the panties between her ankles as far as she could.

Without preamble, the Doctor put a hand to her sex and slid two fingers inside, curving in a forceful, come-hither motion rather than pumping her.

“You may not cum,” he ordered. Rose closed her eyes. If she was not allowed to cum, watching him finger her would be a mistake. “You may answer me ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” 

His fingers massaged, seeking and finding the rough, fleshy patch. Rose gasped; he was never before so rough with her insides. This was a bit new.

“Is this your spot?” he demanded.

“Yes,” and in a rush because she almost forgot, “Sir Doctor.”

He removed his hand at once. 

Rose heard him uncap the lube. Squeezing it out. Perfunctorily, he inserted his lubed fingers, pumping her fully, then removed them to repeat the process. Prepping her to receive. She heard the lube being squeezed again, but this time she heard him spreading it. The vibrator was the likely recipient, though it was a bit on the small side to do anything besides get lost up inside her. 

Sure enough, she felt an object cold and blunt against her and irresistibly looked down. The sight greeting her was that of her Doctor. His tongue-tip to his upper lip, brainy specs on his nose, and lost in concentration as the small, round toy spread her lips and pressed past her entry. It warmed to her sultry body heat. It stretched a bit at entry when the nob-bit passed, but once inside it was seated comfortably. Task completed, the Doctor sat back, turning to the other items on his jacket. He picked up a small electric remote and switched it on.

At once the ball inside of her moved. It took her a moment to realize it was not pumping or vibrating, but swelling. Growing inside of her. Filling her slowly, more and more until it was on the verge of spilling from pleasure to pain. 

The Doctor switched it off and it held its form. “How does that feel?”

Rose bit her lip.

“Say, ‘cold’ if bad, ‘more’ if good.” These were not uncommon parameters in their games. 

“More, Sir Doctor.”

He splayed her labia to get a better look at what was inside and then positioned his wet fingers. Rose braced for the intrusion as his fingers worked into her passage alongside the toy, stretching her fully. It was too much. She wrung the bundled hem in her hands, white knuckled, shoulders hunching, knees trembling as he shoved up and all the way, questing for her rough patch once more. Rose gave up a cry. 

“None of that,” he commanded, fingering her. “Relax. You’re here?” he curled into her raw spot. “Say, ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“Yes!” Rose cried out as tears pricked her eyes. “Yes, Sir Doctor.”

He twisted the toy around inside, a strange, intense sensation. Splayed his fingers—to add insult to injury, she thought—until she felt that small, rounded nob placed against her spot, between his fingers. Situating it. She heard the press of the remote, the hum of the device and it began to expand further. Rose closed her eyes.

“Stop that.” He was glaring up at her as the toy swelled. “You may not shut out what I do to you. You’ll keep your eyes open unless I cover them. Unless I tell you to cover them. Speak.”

“Yes, Sir Doctor.”

He seemed satisfied. The toy was switched off. Huge inside her. With more care than when he was shoving in, he eased his fingers out, not wanting to displace the device. Without them, the globe was large and lodged, the bulbous knob seated against her pleasure spot applying constant, insistent, pressure.

Again, the Doctor splayed her labia with his thumbs. He didn’t seem to be examining her opening, but rather the jutting of her clitoris. When he picked up the single clamp, she knew where he meant to attach it. He did so with care, mindful, slowly. It didn’t pinch as it encased her clitoris so much as squeeze, shifting the most pronounced throbbing of blood in her body from her heart to her clit. Thump thump, thump thump. 

Rose moaned. Tears ran from her eyes. 

“Say ‘cold’ or ‘more’.”

“More, Sir Doctor.” The combination felt good. Very good.

He attached the clamp’s chain to the base of the toy inside of her. Rose worried the inside of her mouth, wondering what effect this might cause. 

Chain attached, the Doctor beamed at his work, thumb flicking her clamped clit. Affectionately placed a chaste kiss to it. Taking up the cloth belt with buckles, he situated it around her waist. Two thinner straps draped down the front like garters except he ran them between her legs to either side of her clit as not it interfere with the clamp. Strapped tight, they separated and flattened her labia so her clit was left alone, straining forward, trapped in its vice. The straps then joined together, up her backside like a thong preventing the toy inside her from ever being able to escape. He secured all. There was one last belt-like strap. He placed it around her right thigh like a stocking garter, then ran a taunt silk cord from it to the toy lodged inside her. 

Rose swallowed. Hard.

The Doctor gave a sigh of relish as he examined his handiwork. He meticulously straightened his sleeves. Reattached his cufflinks. Donned his jacket, buttoned it. Took hold of her panties, returning them up her legs into place. He kissed the tiny bump where her clit forcibly strained against the lace, then took hold of her hands releasing the hem. Down it tumbled, concealing what he’d done.

The Doctor threaded her arm around his elbow. Touched a finger to the jewel at her throat. Then, as though they’d left their game, though she’d clearly not been released from his thrall. “Allons-y to the opera, Dame Rose. With time to spare, too.”

Rose managed to smile with him; it took only that first step for her to realize the nature of the contraption was to ensure she was soundly fucked. Step forward with the leg garter—he’d chosen the leg she led with—and the toy was pulled down, to her entry and met by the straps. As she continued her stride with the other leg, there was a natural squeeze within her body and the too-large balloon relented to the pressure and slammed back up into her, only not too far; it was stopped by the chain secured to her clitoris, pulling on the throbbing button. Down and against her spot. Up inside, pulling her clit.

Every. Single. Step. 

She gasped, tried to stop, but his placed his hand over hers, directing her alongside. Rose stumbled, caught up with a jarring trot and moaned and gasped into his arm as he set a casual stroll. Her hips rolled in time to the walk, thrusting. The Doctor steadied her with an arm around her waist, his fingers digging into her hip bone and Rose wrapped her free arm across his waist in turn for support, gazing up at him in lust, in love, in adoration as she came closer and closer to completion.

“Dame?”

She moaned.

“Did I give you permission to cum?”

Rose froze, tried to stop walking, but he dragged her after him, the pleasure unrelenting. 

“I did not. This is my gift to make you feel good. I want you to allow yourself to feel good. But you must learn control of your pleasure, to regulate it, to master it as I regulate my release to make you cum. Do you understand? Speak.”

“Yes, Sir Doctor.” Rose did. She really did. She was to feel good. Enjoy the sensations. No cumming. Control herself. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her legs were shaking by the time they entered the console room. The Doctor was going on about the opera again, but Rose was distracted, trying hard not to focus on the way the toy glided up inside of her to be halted by her well-punished clit. With a stride, it was pulled down to stretch her wide and struck her spot, then right back up again. And again, her Doctor allowing her to lean against him, his soothing, happy voice as there, ah, yes, _there_. Her inner walls fluttered; not this, not the precipice, she couldn’t cross it, but there, there, oh _there_.

With wide eyes, she collapsed against the Doctor.

“Oh, Rose,” he sighed and held her to him tight as she convulsed with a sob, biting into his suit jacket as she writhed over the too-large toy. The Doctor rubbed her back though it; Rose’s aftershocks were usually long and this was no different. She couldn’t stifle them. Once sated and wrung, the toy felt almost painful as she progressed to her post-coital sensitivity. Her clit stung rather than throbbed. 

“Against the console. Now.”

Pitiless. He pushed her away. There was no use pleading or begging for reprieve. She’d clearly disobeyed his orders, yet this time felt worse than other times she misbehaved. He’d not set her upon some detestable or impossible task. He’d offered her a chance to prove her power of self-possession. He’d offered her titillating pleasure as a gift. She’d succumbed before they could even make it out of the TARDIS. 

“You will be paddled. Skirt up, hands against the console. Bend over.”

Rose did as ordered. She faced the console, hiked up her dress and with the fabric in her grasp, bent over and braced against the edge. She understood why he chose this pose and punishment for her. There was justice in it. She’d lifted her skirt for his gift and would now lift it for discipline. 

He stepped up behind her. Pulled down her panties. Touched the leather-covered paddle to her bum, resting it against her so she would know what was about to strike. “You are being punished because you disobeyed me. Tell me why you are being punished. Speak.”

“Because I disobeyed you, Sir Doctor.”

“I gave you a gift and a challenge. A beautiful gift. I worked hard on this one. I planned a beautiful evening to enjoy.” He reached between her legs, fingers caressing her wet, filled entry. “But you couldn’t control yourself. You must learn.” He took his hand away. “What will you learn tonight?”

“Control, Sir Doctor.”

He pressed his mouth close to her ear. “Did I say, ‘speak’, Dame?”

Rose whimpered. 

She accepted the first blows to her pert bum stoically, her body shaking with the strikes, reverberating through to the toy, stroking her with the rhythm. Rose gritted her teeth as each smack was laid down lustily. With a brief pause, he stroked her bum to allow the blood flow to bloom over her cheeks. It was torture; her clit began to throb again and she was sopping, her wetness running down her thigh as he massaged her hurt. When he began again, it was alternating between her bum and thighs. Tears began to run down her face and she bit her lip against the urge to sob as her legs shook.

He took another pause, caressing her bottom. Sore and swollen, she collapsed against the console before her in relief. 

*Smack*

Her whole body jerked, reeling, pulling away without conscious control. Rose tried to regain her composure, but once it was broken, she couldn’t rein it in. She held on to the console, face and breasts mashed against the knobs and buttons, outright sobbing as more angry blows struck. She squirmed away and he seized hold of her by the belt around her waist, pulling hard, the straps of the device digging into her crotch and holding her in place as he rained blows down. Every strike vibrated the toy. Every strike made the node press into her pleasure point. The strap cradled her crotch in consistent pressure.

Just as she thought she might have to call an end to it, he stopped. He drew her hair away from her neck, the cool air stinging her sweat. In that moment, she feared the punishment less than the possibility he might unlatch her collar and call an end to the evening.

“Do you know your place, Dame?”

Rose lay still. Aching. Her bum, her thighs, yes, but she was also vibrating with lust and she was afraid he knew she had been close to cumming. Shamed for the second time that night for failing to control her body enough to obey him.

Tenderly, he kissed her bare shoulder. “Your place is writhing and shuddering on my cock.” 

She heard him riffling in a pocket, then the soothing sound and sensation of his sonic as he ran it over her sore bum and thighs. They would remain sore for a time, but any possible real damage or bruising would be prevented. Done, he switched it off and said, “Clean yourself up. I’ll be waiting outside. Hurry; you’ve made us late.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did everyone read the warnings? Yes? Proceed!

Rose did her best to tidy her smudged mascara and sort her wrinkled gown, her veneer of being put-together almost convincing. 

The Doctor was waiting for her, all forgiven with her punishment dealt. The TARDIS was parked around the corner of the opera house. They were two of but a few stragglers who mounted the expansive stairs. Rose gritted her teeth and, leaning on the Doctor as she was fucked one step at a time, tackled the torturous task, bottom and thighs burning. The punishment was its own kind of gift, allowing her to redirect her concentration to the pain rather than the rush of pleasure returning to her flushed core as she was pumped. 

The Doctor put an arm around her for support as they neared the top. “That’s it. You’re doing so well. Almost there.” His fingers moved over her hip.

They made it. The usher at the counter took their tickets with a word of advice. “You will need to hurry to your box. The show will begin in only a few minutes.”

The Doctor took her hand. Smiled. “Run.”

Rose obeyed. It was a flowering of sensation: being fucked as her legs pumped, her clit abused, muscles straining and utterly unable to hold back. She gave little cries and gasps as he held her hand firm, setting the pace of the run, the pace of the toy bobbing within her. There was nothing for it. She focused on her burning legs and sore arse. She focused his disappointment should she give in to her pleasure and not the very real shapeliness of his bum as they ducked into their theater box. 

Rose hadn’t cum. She’d made it. Shaking and shivering, he drew her into a hug. 

“You did so well, you beautiful girl. That was hard for you, I know, but you took it so well.”

He was familiar, solid comfort, his body not human-hot but warm. Rose loved the Doctor’s smell, the softness of his lips as he bussed her forehead. Inadvisably, uncontrolled, her hips thrust, her inner muscles clenching and squeezing the malleable little toy. It felt good, like her body was well primed to receive the last push over the edge into climax. 

Rose stopped. She had to relax, calm down. She could not cum. Reluctant, she drew away from his enticing embrace. The Doctor took the hint, darting over to the red-velvet chairs of their private viewing box high over the theater.

Rose stared at the chair. Dread filled her as she approached, the toy filling her with a few more thrusts, thighs and bum aching. Sitting still. For hours on a sore bum.

“Sit,” he said as he did so himself.

Rose sat with a hiss, her sore backside and thighs meeting the cushion. It could’ve been so much worse than this plush seat, but even so, she scooted her bum to the edge to relieve her thighs, her legs splayed as she reclined back. The toy squashed up against her spot, clamp yanking on her clit as the chain went taunt. Thrusting or grinding against the seat would set her off. She had to remain perfectly still and not squirm. 

The Doctor watched all of this with unveiled hunger. She knew she must look a picture. Tousled. Laid back, legs parted, her crotch easily accessed should he lift her skirt. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath from the run; she was hindered by the tight bustier which had been chosen to push her breasts up invitingly. They certainly were, as she heaved for breath. She was sweaty from all their exertions. His hand twitched at his side and she thought that he might try taking her here, in public. 

The lights fell. The audience politely clapped. The show began.

 ***

A timpani was struck alerting Rose to the hereto untried feature of the flexible toy. Rose felt the striking of the beat right against her spot, causing her to jump in her seat. Then again, and again, in time to the rhythm. It was not rough. It did not hurt. It was a symphony of vibration and pleasure for her ears and eyes and most intimate fount of delectation. It was sheer torture. Her fingers dug into the armrests, her body unable to relax, curling in on herself, knees closing and drawing up as a long drumroll sounded. Then crashing of symbols and a slew of harsh bang, bang, banging punctuating the music. The hard nub thrummed steadily and she felt helpless. Her eyes stung. She couldn’t resist. She was going to fail. If this went on for two hours, she would inevitably fail. Multiple times. 

The Doctor’s hands came down on her thighs, stilling her. His voice was soft in her ear. “Relax.”

The drumming continued.

“If you don’t relax, you’re going to cum.” 

Rose whimpered.

“And the next punishment won’t be as pleasant as the last. You have to submit to it, Dame. There’s more to pleasure than pain and orgasm. Let the pleasure spread; let it wash over you.” He eased his grip as Rose forced her body to relax, for her to recline as before. “You can’t let the tension build. Let yourself feel it, but disperse it. Let it into your thighs. Down your legs. Feel it throbbing in your toes, up to these hands. Pleasure more than your cunt. Let your cunt be the conduit to pleasure your body.”

The Doctor let go of her legs. Pried her hand from the armrest and threaded his fingers through hers. Rose obeyed him, not expecting his suggestion to work. She pictured it anyway. Her back ached from the unsupported recline; she imagined it awash in similar pleasurable sensation as her core. Her hands, her fingers took up a jaunty pulse with the music, with the vibration. His thumb soothed the webbing of her hand. Her body felt heavy; her head, airy. The bliss spread, infusing and softening her, limp and boneless. 

With a final fanfare, the first act concluded. Rose had no idea of the plot. She gave a sigh mixed with relief and disappointment as the lights came up and the audience erupted in applause and conversation. 

The Doctor kissed her temple. “That was the first act. I’m going to fetch us refreshment. Do you need to use the loo? Speak.”

“No, Sir Doctor.”

Her reprieve wasn’t long, but Rose found the murmurings of the crowd soothing. He returned with a tall, ice cool glass of water. Rose’s thirst asserted itself as he sat. 

“Tilt your head back,” he said as he cradled her head, fingers sinking into her hair as he pressed the glass to her lips. Rose sucked in the water greedily, and while he let her have enough to meet his thrusts, he limited her to tiny, careful sips so she wouldn’t choke or spill. He observed. Fixated on the movements of her throat. His hand slid out from her hair to be placed over her throat. Only touching. No pressure; there to feel her skin and muscle moving. His lips parted, his breath quickening as he stroked her throat as she swallowed. 

He made no comment, though, and she didn’t have a good view of his crotch to see for herself if he was aroused. Shortly, the lights flickered. There was a rush of patrons back to their seats. The Doctor drank what remained of the water in three gulps and the lights went down. The opera began again. 

It wasn’t long—minutes—before the Doctor’s hand was on her knee. First, caressing her kneecap. Then, moving up. One song later, he’d reached her thigh. She expected it, anticipated it, when his lips brushed her ear and he ordered, “Service me, Dame.”

The thrill that shot straight to her core wasn’t like that of the timpani. Rose couldn’t spirit it away; her longing for the Doctor was raw and uninhibited. 

He stood and hid back against the wall hangings, pulling Rose after, shoving her down to her knees before him as he unzipped. His cock was turgid and full, as though it’d been him tormented all evening. There was no finesse. Often, the Doctor would enjoy Rose’s oral ministrations, allowing or even ordering her to kiss his cock, to stroke it, lick it, suck it. 

Tonight, he said, “Open,” and Rose did. He took himself in hand to insert his cock into her mouth, resting on her tongue, dripping with his lubrication. “Wider.”

Rose did, along with a deep breath. 

He took two test strokes, slow and deep, to the back of her throat. Rose gave a subtle nod; he took her by the back of the head and shoved in, deep, and proceeded to rut, chasing his climax. 

Rose took as much of him as she could, braced against his thighs as best she could, relaxing her gag reflex as he slid down her throat with each thrust. Her hair was pulled. Her jaw ached. Her mouth was full of the taste of sex. Her whole body was rocked by his thrusts. The beat of the opera did not stop vibrating the toy against her spot, the toy rocking inside of her, the clamp pulling at her clit. But it was the Doctor who was her undoing; his face taking on a myriad of contortions, all a picture of sexual pleasure—pleasure he set his defenses aside to accept from her. The music might provide cover for his moans and grunts and panting from others, but Rose could still hear them. 

Rose gave a cry of distress, muffled by the cock down her throat. Her pleasure was culminating. She shoved against his thighs. 

The Doctor sped up, shallow and rough. “Close. Don’t—don’t you— _ugggh_ —dare.”

Rose’s fingers bit into his thighs. She mewed around him as her inner walls gave in under the raw, relentless pleasure, her hips twisting against the waves. He thrust and held, groaning as he shot forth. She convulsively swallowed, barely tasting the bitter cum.

Silent tears flowed down her cheeks as her orgasm subsided and she suckled his flagging cock free of fluids. Once clean, he eased himself out. Rose tried to nuzzle and kiss him as she usually did, but he pushed her face away. 

“Behind the seats. Face in the carpet. Arse up,” he whispered.

Punishment. Here, at the opera. Rose trembled, but obeyed, placing a wet cheek to the rug and offered up her abused bum. He lifted her dress, the fabric fluttering down over her head and pulled down her panties to her knees. To any unlikely passersby, she’d be a humiliating, bright moon. It was too loud for her to hear him take out the lubrication, but she sure did feel it as he applied it to her back entry. He was not hurtful, but he was abrupt in preparing her with one, then two fingers. There was no interest in creating sensation for her, only getting her lubed. She doubted she’d be taking his cock—he was a Time Lord with an exceptional refractory period, but not quite this quick—and was right. The tip of a dildo pierced her, then slowly, insistently penetrated. It was not a fucking; he didn’t draw in and out. Relentless, giving her little time to adjust or relax and it burned. It rooted deep and though the two toys were lodged in separate chambers, she could still feel one pressed against the other. Both felt like they were vibrating to the music. 

Rose bit her tongue and took her punishment to the hilt. He pulled up her panties. Arranged her dress skirts. Took her arm.

He did not return her to their seats. 

He removed her from the private opera box, down the stairs, back to the lobby. The sensation of being fucked and walking while stuck with an anal plug was not entirely pleasant, especially now that Rose understood that part of her punishment was to be taken out of the theater like a misbehaving child.

“Is everything alright, Miss? Sir?” an usher asked, concerned.

“She’ll be alright,” the Doctor assured. “She was upset and isn’t feeling well.”

Rose managed a weak smile and held herself together well. Until the stairs. There, she openly wept against his arm as he supported her against his side.

He made soothing noises and said, “We’ll be back to the TARDIS soon, just a little ways. One foot in front of the other, Dame Rose.”

On unsteady legs, she wobbled and fought, all the way to the TARDIS door, to the ramp where she gave in and slumped to her knees. The Doctor caught her under her arm to offer support.

“Please,” Rose begged, holding the edges of his jacket and he stopped. “Please, I try to please you. I do, Sir, I do.”

He soothed her and joined her on the grating, kneeling before her. Wiped away her tears with his thumb and kissed her; it tasted of cum and salt tears. 

“I know you do,” he assured, brushing her hair out of her face. “I believe you, Dame. I would not play with you at all if I didn’t think you do your best.”

He stood. Took hold of both her wrists. Bound them together with a length of silk cord as Rose did her best to compose herself. Then, he dragged her across the grating up to the console.


	3. Chapter 3

He had her kneel before him. Tied a length of rope between her bound wrists, tested it, and then threw it up overhead, threading it through a coral strut. He hoisted her bound arms up, reminding her of his considerable strength as her knees were raised a few centimeters off the ground. High enough that she dangled from the ceiling, her knees high enough off the grating she couldn’t support her own weight, but her feet were on the ground. Rose struggled to get her feet under her as he secured the line. But the Doctor was on top of it, returning to take hold of her ankles. Tied her heeled feet to the grating with her legs spread. Rose slumped against the bonds, arm joints stretched; shortly, it’d hurt but it was only a stretch for now. She was well and truly hung.

He returned, placing a large, sharp pair of scissors on the grating before her—a startling reminder that should she say the word, he’d cut her free and it would all end. Rose rarely got lost in the game, but tonight she had been quite caught in the scene. 

He held up a cat of nine tails. “Hold this.” He placed the handle to her mouth and she bit down on it. 

The Doctor circled her, considering his angle of attack. He stepped up from behind, between her legs. Took hold of her bum; his finger sunk into the gossamer fabric covering it.

*RIIIIIIP*

The Doctor tore her dress. Ripped it away, tearing it layer by layer, stripping Rose of the last vestment of protection. She’d liked this dress; she’d chosen it for him. The rags fluttered down at her feet as she was roughed. He didn’t bother pulling her panties down; he ripped them away, too. When the back of the skirt was gone, he returned to her front, getting back on his knees to clear it away. The spaghetti straps on the top snapped. He clutched her breasts, his mouth slightly agape. Kneaded them. The stiff, thick bodice was no match for his strength and he tore it open, down her front. He latched onto a nipple at once, sucking, then kissing it like a lover as he pinched and tormented the other. Rose squirmed; he noticed and stopped.

“None of that. I have not given you permission yet, do you understand?”

Rose nodded, but he wretched the cat of nine tails out of her mouth and stood. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back to look up at him. The strands of the flail trailed up her thigh.

“Do you trust me, Dame? Speak.”

“Yes, Sir Doctor.”

“Do you trust I will give my Dame pleasure? Speak.”

Rose trembled. “Yes, Sir Doctor.”

“I intended for you to cum. I intended for you to cum harder than you’d ever cum before, to cum so hard you screamed your throat raw and blacked out as I rode your seizing cunt for minutes after.”

Rose whimpered and tried to rub her thighs together, the toy delicious.

The flail came down against her thigh, hard and she swallowed a scream.

He pulled her hair. “Control yourself. Submit, Dame. Do you want me to make you cum? Answer me!”

“Yes! Please, Sir Doctor, _please_.”

“You may not cum.”

The Doctor released her hair and reached between her legs. He rubbed her and found her leaking. He detached the clamp. “Fun as this is, I don’t want to damage my favorite little Rose during punishment.”

He let it fall through the grating. Continued to rub her, spread the moisture. Sensuously, skilled. So often, she’d cum by his touch. Rose bore it as she’d done in the opera, allowing the pleasure to spread rather to become concentrated. Then, he removed the leg strap attachment from her thigh—no use for it now that she wasn’t walking anywhere. He circled up behind her. 

The cat of nine tails was run down her back, over her bum. Building the anticipation. Slapped it lightly against her damp sex; it wrapped around from below to snap at her clit.

It was no surprise when he struck her. Methodical, he began at her shoulders and worked down, over her back, her bum, her thighs, her calves. It started like slaps, stinging. Then he returned to her shoulders again, striking the sore flesh harder as Rose began to yield to pained exhales. When next he started at her shoulders, she gave a wail, followed by sobs as her bound feet struggled for purchase, the high heel of her shoe catching on the grating and wrenching her ankle. She swung as she struggled, his blows losing their precision; the tassels wrapped around her sides to strike her breasts and he kept on striking. The stinging turned to a burning, turned to fire and confusion whether it was sweat or blood running down her back.

The Doctor was beginning to grunt with every strike. Rose gave over. She allowed the pain to wash over her, through her, fill her. It all blended together as one long moan. She barely registered when he stopped, when the sonic came out and was applied over her fevered skin. 

The fog in her head cleared, though her strained arms ached fiercely. Rose felt him at her bum removing the plug. It fell to the floor along with the flail. He stood before her. Unzipped his pants and took out his strong erection, fitting it with a condom which he lubed. 

“You may not cum.”

Returning behind her, he took her by the hips, lifted her up and impaled her. The plug had stretched and prepared her, but that was not the same as this and Rose burned. 

The Doctor let out a keening, almost pained cry. He gasped and moaned as he slowly stroked, holding back only to allow her to adjust. He didn’t hold back sounds or groans or his steady, “Rose, Rose.”

She was full, so magnificently full. His thrusts reverberated through the toy, its hard little nub stroking her spot in time with the Doctor’s moans from behind. He took hold of her hips, lifted up a bit to take some of the weight off of her aching wrists and shoulders, but mostly to give himself leverage. Rose swung freely, with no control over the rhythm as he set about taking her. He could have taken her to task, but instead, languished in the feel of her, made sure she felt every inch of him as he took pleasure in her body. 

“You may not cum.”

Rose submitted to the fucking. She submitted to feeling the pleasure, but allowed it to wash through, to savor rather than rush the experience to its conclusion. He sped up, their need more insistent and even though she knew he sought his own pleasure (and she was suffuse with it) she did not allow wantonness overcome her. The Doctor gave several rapid, graceless strokes and stiffened as he came, moaning her name.

Barely spent and panting heavily, he eased out from her. She heard him rapidly dispose of the condom and went to the scissors. He took care cutting her down off the ceiling, sticking his head between her arms, securing her to his chest with one arm as he cut the rope above them, her wrists still bound together. He lowered them both to the grating in a heap, on their knees. He draped her over his shoulder, supporting her.

He kissed her cheek softly. Reverently. “You didn’t cum. Speak to me, Dame Rose, was it good?”

Mute, body trembling from exertion and desire, Rose nodded.

He kissed his way to the corner of her mouth. “Tell me, Dame. Were you not dripping from my flail? Speak.”

“I was, Sir Doctor.”

“You usually enjoy having your bottom filled. Was there anything different about this time?”

Rose bit her lip. “More, Sir Doctor.”

He pressed a finger against her lips. “Did you want to cum, Dame? Speak.”

Tears bloomed in her eyes. “Yes, Sir Doctor. Please, please, Sir Doctor.”

He pressed his finger past her lips and she sucked, raked the tip of her tongue over it. Too soon, he pulled away and busied himself by cutting free her wrists, allowing Rose to lie down, face in his lap. 

His cock was still out, flaccid, free of the condom. He’d cum in the condom and was still messed with some of his own semen. It was automatic, her duty, to lick him clean and she did as he stroked her hair. 

He grew harder. He always did when she put her mouth to him. Rose continued to suckle him as he took out his sonic and ran it over her back and bottom. Once he’d healed as much area as he could from where he sat, he eased her away. “Relax, it’s enough. Let me take care of you.”

Rose relaxed, as much as she could while sprawled face down on hard metal grating with her ankles tied down and legs spread. He got up to continue the sweep of the sonic over her legs, any stinging gone and only pleasant heat remaining. The heady rush of painkillers and endorphins circulated throughout her body. His touch followed, up her legs to the belt and straps. He removed them, then parted her thighs further. Rose took a few deep breaths, reminding herself she may not cum as he stroked her clit, then her entry.

“You’re still wet,” he remarked and slid his fingers back up inside her alongside the toy. The full toy he did not bother to deflate. Rose whimpered as he wiggled around and she cried out as he grasped it. Slowly, he eased it out. 

“On your knees, Dame. Sit up”

Rose obeyed. He plunged his hand back into her hair and pressed the toy to her lips. “Lick this clean.”

Rose licked. The Doctor knelt before her, his aroused cock rising out of his open fly. Her legs still spread and ankles tied to the grating, he easily slid his knees between hers, positioning her entry over his cock. She finished with the toy and he set it aside.

“Pleasure yourself, Dame.” He was slightly reclined back, supported by his arms.

Cock straining up between their bodies, it was clear what he meant for her to pleasure herself with. Rose raised herself, braced a hand on his shoulder and used the other to place him at her entry. He nodded, the flush of his face bringing out the contrast of his freckles. Rose breached herself on him; the head of his cock was thick and swollen. Breath coming heavy for them both, she sunk down to sheath him fully.

He did not move. Rose waited, quivering, spread, speared to the hilt and waiting for him to fuck her.

“I said,” he bit out through clenched teeth, “pleasure yourself.”

Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. Her internal muscles clenched, hard, as she lifted up, squeezing his cock until its head was back at her entry, then relaxed, allowing gravity to guide her penetration. And again and again. His eyes rolled up into his head; his hands clenched the grating. It was about sensation The pleasure for her was the penetration, the pleasure for him the pull and squeeze. Slow and laborious, it allowed for her soreness to pass. Before long, Rose began rocking into him when he was sheathed on the down stroke. The soreness was gone. She forgot about the grating pressing into her knees and gripped the Doctor’s shoulders firmly. Her movements became shallower, more powerful. 

“Take care, Dame,” he ground out.

Not to cum. Rose slumped against him. Calmed her rampant desire. She was meant to learn control, to master her orgasms. But he’d also ordered her to pleasure herself and this she so wanted to do. There was so much of him to enjoy. She ran her hand down her stomach, through her soft, crinkly hair to massage her slick stretched lips. To stroke where they were joined, her wet, pink tissue encasing his engorged member, the veins of him dark and beating under her fingertips. The hair at his base was dark, like her own, and thick and soft and damp with their lovemaking. She kept her hips still as she touched him, as she explored the definition of his abdominals, then back to tease her own clit. She circled it. Sped up her hand motions. Slowed. Her hips jerked, his cock inside of her twitching.

The Doctor watched every move. Rapt. With heavy eyelids.

Rose rolled her hips a little stronger and eased off touching her clit. Instead, she massaged her breasts. She pinched her nipples, tweaked them. She pumped them the way she sometimes pumped his cock. Ran her thumbs over her nipples the way she did his slit. It felt good, yes, but even better was the lust in his eyes. In these moments she held all his considerable attention.

He licked his lips. “Good tease or bad tease, Dame? Speak.”

“More, Sir Doctor.”

“Is this a good reward for not cumming, Dame? Speak.”

“More, Sir Doctor.”

There was another flash of his wet, pink tongue against his lower lip. “Can you continue your obedience, Dame? Speak.”

The words caught in Rose’s throat. “I’m yours, Sir Doctor. Anything, please.”

The Doctor shuddered. Leaning into her, he wrapped his arm around her, stilling her movements. “Say it again.”

Rose bit her lip to keep from begging.

He shook her, gave a shove of his impaled cock. “Say it, say it. Dame, speak.”

“Anything, Sir Doctor.”

He whimpered, pained, and began small, arrhythmic thrusts into her body. “No, no, please, Dame, Rose, _Rose please_. Say it.”

“I, I,” It was always difficult for her to think when he was her Sir Doctor with his cock buried inside of her or a lash at her back. He could be difficult to read. The warring darkness of the Sir with her kind Doctor came out to play during their games, but this was pure Doctor, all Doctor, both sides of him asking her. 

“I’m yours,” she confessed.

He thrust into her. “Again.”

“Yours.”

He sped up, asserting a rhythm. “Again.”

“Yours, yours, yours,” Rose pleaded in time. 

He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back, down to the grating. Limber as Rose was, this was a bit beyond her flexibility. He was still on his knees, and her bum rested on his thighs, her legs spread to either side of his hips and his cock impaling her. He gave her a moment to situate herself at the odd angle before resuming his rhythm. Then, he did something odd. He drew back, but not out. He took hold of either of her thighs, but instead of forcing them further apart, he clamped them together and held them to his chest. Her bum in his lap, cock buried deep, and her legs held to him, her cunt closed in on his cock to hold it in her vice. Her channel was tight, but being able wrap his arms around her thighs, securing them to his chest, he had the perfect leverage to drive into her.

He began at once. At this angle, his cock drove into her spot at every thrust, her cunt squeezed him tight, and when his hand drifted over her stomach to squeeze a thumb in between her legs to ruthlessly stroke her clit, she knew she was helpless under his power. She writhed in agony to fight off the orgasm, helpless as he mercilessly built her pleasure.

“I’m yours, Sir, please Sir, please,” she begged and moaned and sobbed. She knew she didn’t deserve it. She’d been traitorously disobedient and had taken orgasms greedily this night. 

“Cum, Dame.”

Rose threw her head back, mouth crying her pleasure as her body bowed, her cunt seizing at once under his command. The culmination around his cock was total, her channel fully sensate of all the length he endowed her. But it was so much more. Pleasure radiated throughout her body. Starbursts appeared in her vision. She writhed and mewed and let go.

Breathless and gasping, the soothing aftershocks quaking and grasping at his impaled girth, Rose's thighs were allowed to fall to the wayside. He bent over her and kissed her limp, exhausted lips.

“Was it good?” he radiated approval.

She almost said, ‘yes,’ but corrected for proper, submissive language. “More, Sir Doctor.”

“I should think so.” He thrust into her as a hard, poignant reminder that he was ridged and unsatisfied. “I am going to cut you free. You will be ready at the console. Legs spread. You will be ready to accept me.”

Her cunt tingled and she despaired that he drew out of her. Bereft, he left her for the scissors, cock bobbing in the air as he walked. His eyes remained on her exposed, red cunt as he cut her bound ankles and removed her shoes from her feet, checking her toenails for blood flow before helping her to stand.

Rose needed the assistance. Her legs trembled. Every muscle in her body ached as though she’d run a marathon. 

“Go,” he commanded and Rose wobbled over to the console, grateful when she put her hands to the edge and bent over, spreading her legs. He plunged in without preamble, without any resistance rutting harshly as he pushed her down against the console.

“Do you remember when I first took you here?” 

Rose moaned her confirmation.

“You came nine times in three hours.” Relentlessly thrusting, he set a timer on the console. “Three hours. No hands. No mouth. I will fuck you with my cock. You may not cum. If you cum, I’ll have to cum in my own hand and there will be punishment of the sort that won’t be fun for either of us. If I can’t make it, which I will, but if I can’t, I will eat my cum from your cunt and I will owe you nine orgasms tonight. If we both make it, I will cum in you and you have permission to cum once. Understood? Speak, Dame.”

“More, Sir Doctor.” 

It was all sweet torture. The sweetest. Rose fought and begged and pleaded. For what, she couldn’t say, couldn’t identify, for she wanted to obey Sir Doctor as much as her body demanded she succumb to the pleasures she was inundated by.

It was her Sir Doctor who seized up, slamming his hand to the console and gave forth an angry groan as he spent too early into her. Heavily he slumped over her, gasping to regain his breath—he did sometimes when he was too distracted to engage his respiratory bypass. A tremor ran through him. He groped about until he found her hand to hold, meshed his fingers through hers and pulled them close. She felt the puff of his breath against her shoulder, the tip of his nose nuzzling in as he softened.

Something was wrong; he held on too tight. The Doctor did not shake, not even after vigorous sex. With her free hand, Rose clumsily reached over her head to stroke his hair, a motion he butted into.

“Sir Doctor?”

“Hush,” he told her shoulder, then spoke incomprehensibly in his own language. Something pained, something worrying to Rose. He kissed her shoulder blade, calming himself as he began to slide from her body. That was the deciding factor in his next action; to pry his fingers from hers. He drew away to hold her thighs shut as he flipped her onto her back. Rose did her best to find an uncluttered place that didn’t have some bit or bob digging into her flesh or catching strands of hair, not really succeeding. Not that it mattered as the Doctor went to his knees, threw one of her thighs over his shoulder, allowing the other to fall to the wayside and dug into the seat of her wanting. 

He laved around her vulva, kissed her lips before splitting her open with the blade of his tongue. In he delved. Sucking hard. He ate her. Ate of himself, for he’d fully spent inside of her. He hummed and swallowed all the same, and when her hips hitched, he grabbed her not to hold her still, but to encourage her.

Poor Rose loved his oral fixation; loved to see those pretty, pouty lips spread over her clit, his brown eyes blown wide with desire, the feel of his terrific hair in her fingers as her core was suffuse with pleasure. This was her very special treat and she wanted it to last. Last, it could not. 

Her wailing moan grew as her peak forced its way over her. She came, arching into his mouth. He moaned, too. Suckling through her peak and waves after, he drew circles into her hip with his thumb. It was a long after. Her body’s way of telling her this was precisely the treatment it wanted. 

The Doctor was reluctant to end it, too, suckling long after the contractions has passed, until she felt the brewing of new desire. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to happen again as she was, not with all the insistent lumps on the console turning from irritating to sharp, biting pain. 

She cleared her dry throat. “Sir? The console, Sir. . .”

He tore his lips away, jumping to his feet. “Right, right. Sorry, I should not have forced you to speak, Dame.” He helped her up, steadying her onto her feet, failing to conceal his wince of shame by hiding behind her. She caught it in her periphery. This was not the first time he was hard on himself for not being the most unrealistically perfect dom. “Can you walk to your room, Dame? Speak.”

“Yes, Sir Doctor.”

“Are you sure?” he asked as he secured his pants over his half-stiff cock, zipping up his trousers. It would not be dignified to waddle back with them about his ankles. “I can carry you if not. Speak, bright angel.”

“I’m sure, Sir Doctor.”

His eyes burned as he palmed her. “You’re still wet. Is this from me? Or have you eight more to give?” His long middle finger found her entry. Taunting, the tip breaching her. “Speak, Dame.”

“I’m obedient, Sir Doctor. I take whatever reward you see fit to give me.”

Carefully, he added two more fingers. The sounds of the console’s constant hum, their ragged breathing, and wet slide of him as he buried them to his palm. 

“You have permission to cum, Dame. Come along,” he hooked his fingers, turned and led her towards her room by her snatch. 

He took care to keep close, walking slow. It was not a punishment; it was meant to be pleasant fun and it was. Too much fun. Halfway there, Rose was whimpering and rolling her hips. 

Indulgent, he backed her against the chevron-covered wall, the corners digging into her bum as he fingered her. Rose arched her back, stroking his jaw, inviting him to partake in her breasts. To her, the nubs felt like stony pebbles. She gave a cry when he flicked one with his tongue, over and over, before falling upon her, hot, soothing, mouth wide and wet, sucking in sync with the motions of his fingers. Rose succumbed to the rhythm, too, running her nails through his hair. She clenched and dug down into his scalp as he curled against her precious control. She promptly lost all, screaming, “Doctor, Doctor,” as she came. Her body lost possession of itself, slumping into him, shaking thighs rendered useless. He propped her up by pushing back against her sternum and put a shoulder under her armpit. 

“I have you, Dame, keep on. That’s it.” He kissed her breast, his stubble tickling her into a giggle as she clung to his shirtsleeves. 

Spent, Rose leaned back into the wall, slumping down to let the floor have her.

“None of that,” he said. 

Before she really knew what was what, he’d lifted her up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Kissed her hip and slapped her bum. 

Two could play at that game. Rose took two handfuls of his perfect, taunt, sculpted bum. Marveling, enjoying the feel of his muscles as he walked.

He kissed her hip again, drawing circles up her thigh. He thumbed her labia, stroking her soppy entry all the long way to her door; perhaps the TARDIS was in on their game. He burst through the door, tossing her onto the soft mattress.

Rose gave an “Ooof!” She bounced more for fun than under the force of gravity. She smiled up at him from the mess of covers, observing the large tent in his trousers. 

Very carefully, he loosed his black bow tie. Slid it forth from under the collar. Unbuttoned the shell stud at his throat. Then the next button and the next. By the time he’d discarded his cuff links, he added, “Rose, breathe.”

Away went his shirt. She gasped as he lifted away his Henley, too. He was all pale skin, soft abdomen with defined shoulders and pecs, the later specked with soft, dark hair.

Barefoot, he padded over, the mattress dipping low as he sat.

Rose could not stop staring. Was reaching for him by instinct, that magnificent, forbidden expanse of skin hypnotizing her. 

He caught her hesitant hand and placed it between his hearts. Rose splayed it, through the sparse hairs, into the muscle. He asked, “This okay?”

Rose nodded.

His grip tightened over hers, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepening. “I don’t want to play right now, Rose.”

Confusion ruled, mingled with fear. Even though he held her breast gently, encouraging her to lie back and spread her legs for him she wasn't sure what he meant. 

She was relieved he didn’t take away her collar.

Out came her favorite silken ropes. They were tied with more than the usual slack, looser about her ankles. He lovingly twined the lengths around her arms, her torso, then braided the disparate strands together, secured to the headboard. 

Rose didn’t follow what he’d meant; she was terrifically turned on, throbbing since he’d taken his bloody sweet time binding her. This was the same sort of act as their usual play. Ditto when he took out his sonic from his trouser pocket, adjusting the settings. Placing it against her clit as she screamed into the flesh of her own arm, cumming hard. He knew her desires unspoken.

“Good,” he approved as the last possible contraction was wrung from her and switched off his sonic. 

He stroked her hair, damp with sweat and pulled it back, out of her face. He tied it messily with a bit of left over silk. Kissed the join of her earlobe to her neck, then down her jawline. Cupped her cheek, his thumb over her lips. Her tongue poked through to lick it; salty. He kissed the tip of her chin. Then the divot. Her breathing stopped as he edged up, skirting the last of her peach fuzz to where her lower lip began. His thumb pressed harder.

Then he was off her, off the bed. 

Rose swallowed. “Water, Sir?”

It was one of the few words she was permitted to say anytime at all. He would always rush to comply, no matter where in the proceedings they were. He hurried off and she marveled to see him so naked. There was definite self-consciousness in him as he skirted back. As much as Rose wanted to drink him in, she didn’t look head-on. Back at her side, he helped her to her side and as upright as she could manage, letting her sip. She took advantage, leaning into his naked chest, flesh to flesh. He made no comment on it, though he must know she did it on purpose.

Rose nodded when she was done. He placed the cool, wet glass to her fevered forehead.

“Lie down, dear Dame,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “On your side, away from me.”

She had enough leeway to do so, though she couldn’t quite bring her legs together, bound loosely but not loose enough for freedom. 

She heard him disrobing. The zipper, the slide of fabric. Dull thumps as his belt hit the ground atop other clothes. Shuffling about. The snap on a cap—lubricant, she knew. Her heart thudded like mad in her chest. 

For no good reason, her eyes teared up as the mattress dipped once again, his hand tracing the shape of her hip, sloping down to her stomach. 

“I have a present for you,” he said, a white dildo sliding up her ribs, between her breasts as he lay behind her, sliding into bed, his bare chest against her back. His cock pressed against her bum cheek. His arms wrapped around her, securing her.

Rose whimpered as he awkwardly lubricated the toy so she could see. He worked his knee between her thighs to keep her open and, once it was dripping, he rooted the head of the phallus through her curls.

“I expect you to give me a nice, long ride on this, Dame,” he said, piercing her. 

“Yes, Sir Doctor, more.” 

It was an average dildo, nothing fancy, but Rose knew she was a tart and her Sir Doctor knew how to stroke her. Where his hand gripped the toy, he not only struck against her vulva and clit, but allowed her to grind her hips against his hand, allowing her delicious pressure and sensation whilst being fucked. He held her breast firmly, her nipple pinched between his finger knuckles. She squirmed and writhed in his arms as she sought a good motion to enjoy the treat. But he’d ordered her to give it a long ride, so she tried holding back. No easy task when his steady, if heavy breathing was in her ear, when his lips pressed against the back of her neck.

“Cum now, Dame. Move those hips. That’s it, take what you need.”

Rose came, the toy deep within, his hand moving to stroke her clit. He let go her breast to turn her face, enough to buss a kiss against her cheek. Rose tried to turn further, to permit him better access. To encourage him to go further. To kiss her. Properly. On the lips. 

“That’s four you’ve been repaid. There’s a long way to go. How else might I please my obedient Dame? Speak.”

This was leaving character for him. Just a little bit. “You didn’t plan for me to win your little challenge, did you, Sir?”

The tenor of his voice chilled. “I meant both of us to pull through, but don’t you dare imagine I’m not good on my promises to you, Dame. I can make cumming a misery; I can make ecstasy of your pain.”

Rose shivered, knowing full well the truth of it, rubbing her thighs against the toy lodged within her. “I—” she stopped immediately, not certain she had permission.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder. “It’s alright, my Dame. I asked you to tell me.” He sealed it with a kiss.

“I don’t want that many orgasms,” she confessed. “I’d rather you love me in my cunt, Sir, however you want to cum.”

“Truly, Dame? Speak.”

Rose smiled, trying to turn, to look him in the eye, but found it difficult to turn in his arms. “That, and you wash me up in a frothy bubble bath.”

“Done,” he said at once, without consideration, pulling forth a pillow to go beneath her hips as he allowed her to fall to her back once more. It was how she was tied. Rose liked for him to go to town on her from behind, but he couldn’t manage that without undoing the knots and neither of them were up for wasting time re-situating. 

Rose hadn’t forgotten the Doctor was fully nude. She’d been so very distracted by and suffuse with the feel of being held to him while bound and cumming that she’d not fully braced for the full effect of his full exposure.

He was beautiful, her Doctor. His shaft was full, yes, but he moved full of animation, sure of purpose between her legs, taking hold of the toy. 

Whatever he saw in her face made him ask, “Is this alright, Dame? Speak.”

“More, Sir Doctor.”

He removed the toy, tossing it away without the usual fanfare and settled between her thighs, hands to either side of her. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Were Rose _his_ dom, she’d have ordered him to speak. Tell her what was wrong, or right. Games didn’t work without a forthright dom. Thankfully, he caught himself at it. “I know you’re eager to please me, but I can do for myself as well as for you. I’m going to enjoy this, my Dame.”

He did take it slow. Agonizingly slow. He knew what drove her mad. Every nook and cranny of her body to stoke into flame. A different torture. He kisses down every rib and up her sternum, laps and sucking of her breasts while skirting her taunt, aching nipples. All was kind and pleasant and nice. Painful for lack of force and—Rose feared—conviction. Eyes stinging, Rose best understood her fear. 

Demands were honesty. She feared affection was pretense. 

If it was, it was sweet. Would it be wrong to imagine his affection was as real as his cock gliding into her? No doubt there was affection. He’d been explicit that taking a companion to his bed was not the sort of thing he did, that he did not do this—whatever this was—with just anyone. Years, decades, fell from his shoulders as he lazily moved, Rose meeting him at his own pace. His hands moved over her body without any apparent destination, roving and free. 

Rose took solace that her Doctor was utterly pleased by her; a lithe, contented cat, gyrating his hips in an amazing but infuriatingly not-quite- _there_ way. She struggled against the ropes binding her feet, longing to dig her heels into what she knew full well would be a pert, naked bum. She began panting, frustrated. Wanting more, needing more, the last peak held out of her grasp.

He took pity on her. He always did, in the end. Picking up the pace, the thrusts harder, wrapping his arms behind her back to bring their bodies the best friction, he planted his face into the crook of her neck as Rose’s pants morphed into whimpered cries into spine-bending orgasmic scream. 

She could tell he meant to allow her to ride him to her orgasm’s completion as was usual, but he gave over. His teeth scraped her flesh as he joined her. That pert bum of his clenched hard, all of him taunt, squeezing her close as he pounded those last seed-spilling strokes into her. 

He collapsed, all effort—and likely cum—spent inside her. 

He lay, breathing deeply from her, holding her as he softened. It was usual for him pull out and clean up at once (one way or another), but he held on until his cock slipped out as Rose shifted to get more comfortable. Because she was. Comfortable, that is. 

A sad whine escaped her throat as he rolled off the bed.

“’S’all right,” he soothed. “Just going to clean us off, cut you free. Won’t be more than a minute, I swear.”

Rose nodded, expressing that she understood. She did her best to memorize the shape of his shoulder blades and the placement of the dimples on his bum for she expected he’d dress himself as well.

He never liked to leave her when they played. Said it was bad form. Rose liked to imagine he simply wanted to stay with her. Either way, he nosily made his way to the bath. Shuffling about, drew the tap—not the thin, sharp sound of the sink, but the thunderous clamor of the bath echoing about her ensuite. When he returned, it was with a hot, wet flannel to clean her and a pair of scissors. He’d not dressed. Hopefully, he wouldn’t throw all his clothes on the minute she was cut free. Rose did her best not to stare, not to make him self-conscious of his nudity when layers were his protection from scrutiny. 

With the same deftness as piloting his ship, he slid one blade between her skin and the silk at her bicep and cut the twined silk up to her wrists. 

“This is my favorite bit, you know,” he said, immediately correcting, “Er. Maybe not favoritest-favorite, but up there. Top twenty. Freeing Rose.”

He snipped the last line keeping her hands anchored, momentarily setting the scissors aside to help Rose sit up. But instead of ordering her to show him her fingers and detachedly examining her nails, he drew her in, scooting up behind her. Rose did not question, settling against him with a shiver as he massaged her arms, smoothing over the reddened lines indenting her skin.

“Legs in. We’ll get your ankles, too.” 

There was just enough give in the loose line for her to draw them in to be cut, and she was free. Away went the scissors for the night. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as she sighed in contentment, the ache of the well-used beginning to throb. 

When she felt his fingers at her necklace chain, she gave a startled cry of, “No!”

He stopped. 

Rose felt immediately ashamed. Either of them could end things whenever they wanted to, anytime at all. That was the only reason why either of them agreed to this. She could say her word. The Doctor could take off her necklace and it was over, full stop.

“Sorry,” Rose apologized.

“What is it?” he asked.

There were many things for her to say, all of them true. Truest of all would have been, _hold me_. Instead she timidly murmured, “My bath?”

He laughed and unhooked her necklace. “The bath awaits!”

Rose’s heart plummeted as the pretty pink heart was laid aside and the Doctor stood to retrieve articles of his clothing. This was the part Rose hated—the only part she didn't enjoy in full. The transition from Sir and Dame to Rose and the Doctor. Not that sh would ever want to be Dame all the time—certainly not. Stepping into the role of Dame from Rose felt effortless. Stepping out of the role was never quite smooth. Which was no one’s fault but her own. She fell deep into the role, too deep, let herself be carried away with a fantasy. It was easier to believe Sir Doctor loved Dame Rose; he was direct and clear and honest in what he felt, in what he wanted from her. The Doctor was less so, pulling up his black tuxedo trousers up over his pants, re-ruffling his ruffled hair. 

The Doctor provided her aftercare, to be sure. He was never unkind, not even close. He was remarkably thoughtful, prepared to heal her of bruises or soreness with the sonic and solvents. He’d run her a shower. He’d help her to dress, back in her everyday clothes or pajamas. Food would be waiting, a steaming cup of tea and nibbles. Tucked into bed, he’d read to her from the corner. Or they’d watch telly on the couch, snuggled under an afghan. Once, memorably, he brushed her hair. Things would be exactly as they always were before. Which was not bad—never bad. But on the whole, she felt like a toy he was packing up and putting away, while simultaneously coaxing his friend, plain old Rose Tyler, to join him for tea. 

Neither a bad role for her to play, but it made for an uncomfortable spectrum to straddle. It wasn’t like a switch for her; she couldn’t simply stop wanting him at the drop of a necklace.

“Rose? Are you alright?”

She’d been lying there, like a lump. Without though, Rose reached for the sheet to pull it forth, to cover herself as he abandoned his clothes search and went to her. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Let the TARDIS worry about cleanup.” He brushed aside the sheet and offered her his hand. Him, shirtless and her entirely naked. Taking the Doctor’s hand was automatic. It was surreal, though, to be naked with the Doctor and him not become flustered or embarrassed. This didn’t feel like packing up and putting away their game.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “The old girl will have the mess done away with by the time you’re done.”

The TARDIS would clean the bed sheets while she was in her bath. The bath she wasn’t going to enjoy as much as she’d thought she would without Sir Doctor joining her. Though she shouldn’t expect him to—baths weren’t exactly Sir Doctor’s purview. A furrow appeared between his brows, but all he said was, “Come on,” tugging her towards her bath.

Rose’s heartbeat quickened, mentally urging her to calm down. That the Doctor was leading her to the bath didn’t mean he would be joining her. That the usually bright lights were lowered didn’t necessitate he intended inspire a romantic atmosphere, nor the way the steamy air carried the scent of vanilla and lilac didn’t meant he intentionally picked their favorites—the TARDIS could have—nor that her typical, perfunctory tub had expanded and deepened and was frothing over with sparkling pink and gold bubbles was anything more than accommodating what she’d earned as a reward.

Reading too deep was a dangerous game. 

He sat on the edge of the tub, on a fluffy towel covering the stone lip, drawing her closer.

“Well?” he asked, since she wasn’t precisely jumping straight in.

“Is it—?”

“Oh, not too hot, no!” He plunged his free hand through the froth and splashed around. “Perfect temperature for humans.”

And lovely and thoughtful aftercare, it really was. She ought to stop obsessively longing for what was out of reach and appreciate the riches she had. The Doctor did care for her. It was apparent in his wide, admiring brown eyes as she stepped up and over into the tub. He gripped her hand tighter as she settled into the foam and hot, the tension-alleviating waters. There was a convenient, submerged ledge for her to sit upon, the lining slightly squishy and gripping like the floors of her shower. 

“Stay right there,” he said and kissed the crown of her head, standing, releasing her.

Rose swallowed. It was fine. It was a lovely bath. It was a bath drawn specifically for her by the Doctor and she could hold on to that thoughtfulness, that kindness and consideration which he had—which he always had. He did not have to hover, minding her endlessly.

“Which do you prefer, Rose?” 

Rose turned about to find the Doctor holding a basket of bottles and tubes and glass-stoppered perfumes. Befuddled and bemused he read the labels. “Would you prefer a ‘hydrating, skin-nourishing formula’ with ‘lemon zest to awaken the sunny senses’ or ‘non-greasy, fortified with shea butter and jojoba oil’ with ‘dry notes of labdanum, vetiver, and’ oooo, ‘sensual balsam’.” He wiggled an eyebrow.

“You’re making up words again,” Rose teased.

“Am not! Look at them, Rose.” He returned to his perch, displaying his collection. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure they’re all nice”

“Of course it matters,” the Doctor protested. “Have you any idea how the human mind is hardwired to tie scent to memory?”

Rose’s lip twitched as she fought against a smile. “Some.”

“Then you see why it’s important. Which one do you like best?”

“Doctor, they’re just shampoos. Any of them will be lovely.”

His countenance fell. Looked to the basket, sight unseen. Despondent and vacant as he set it down.

Maybe not just shampoos? The Doctor was difficult to read. Sir Doctor would tell her precisely what he wanted and expected of her. 

“Shall I,” he began. Stopped, whatever he was about to say catching in his throat. 

“Is that apple and tea tree?” Rose asked, steadying herself by holding his knee, then pointing to a green bottle with her other hand.

“Hmm-uh. Uh. Yes.” 

“That one, then,” Rose said. “Apples and tea.”

There. All better. He flicked a bit of foam from her cheek. “Yeah. Should’ve guessed.”

Rose held her hand out as he plucked the bottle from the basket nest. 

He held it to his chest. “Could I, maybewashyourhair? If that’s okay?”

He wanted to wash her hair? “Yes.” What if, “Do you want to join me?” 

He swallowed, eyes dropping down. Over her breasts, barely covered in pink, sparkly foam. Was he tempted? Repulsed by the notion of being covered in pink, glittery foam? “It’s your treat, Rose. Not mine. Sit.”

Rose did, more so to conceal her disappointment than to be obedient. She wasn’t wearing her necklace so he hadn’t meant it that way! Oh, she was a silly thing. 

All thought ceased when he began to brush her hair. Gathering it, gripping from the nape of her neck to protect her scalp, starting at the bottom to untangle the knots he’d wrought, working his way up. Thorough, methodical until he could run the brush from top to bottom unimpeded. 

It was even better than she remembered.

From the running tap, he filled a large cup, “Lean back,” and poured the hot water through her tresses, followed by his fingers. Magical fingers. Rose butted into the sensation, leaning her head back into his thigh. She was getting his trousers all wet, but he made no protest. He settled her in, if anything, and broke the seal on the shampoo.

As the scent wafted through the air, mingling with the existing perfumes and the now-faint smell of him, Rose acknowledged the Doctor was right. Scent could unlock memory, tie the past to the present, cement how she now could add another happy association to this smell: the Doctor working circles into her scalp until her brain shut down and she purred. Aloud. Reaching back, she burnished the backs of his manly, hairy arms with the backs of her fingers. 

He worked from her temples, back to the base of her skull, then up and over until he ended with a kiss to her forehead. 

I love you, Rose wanted to say. “Join me.”

“This is for you, Rose,” he said, shaking his head, but smiling all the same. 

Rose pulled away, plunging straight down into the waters. Shook her head, tousled her hair for the water to take the suds. Popped up, rinsed, free from soap, kneeling on the ledge, reaching for the Doctor. 

He was properly stunned, watching the rivulets of water drip down her body.

“Rose,” he breathed.

“Join me. I’ll wash your back,” she teased. He didn’t move or speak, merely staring at her breasts, her nipples pearling in the cooling air. 

Well, if it was going to be this way, she’d had enough. She stood up—with some difficulty. Every muscle in her legs was fatigued and it struck home then, how it was very, very early in the morning. She’d been well used and was exhausted.

He took hold of her hips to steady her. 

A whining noise escaped him. He was staring at the trim, honey-blonde curls in front of his face.

“You know, if you want to lick it, you only have to ask.”

“I don’t want to make that an order. This is your aftercare, Rose.”

“I said, ask, Doctor.”

He managed to peel his eyes away from her crotch to meet her eyes. 

Another thing she should not have said. The game they played had safe boundaries, structure to guide them. He’d not sought her outside that realm. 

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes, Doctor. You may lick my pussy as much as you’d like.”

He fell upon her, widening her stance so that he cool, wet mouth could attach to her wet curls, his tongue snaking out to rasp at her clit at once.

Rose wobbled. 

“In bed,” she added, carding his hair back and easing him from her with a wet pop. “Too tired to stand.”

“Oh,” he said, dazed, and then snapped awake. “Oh, here. Towels for you.”

He helped her dry off, rubbing terrycloth up and down her legs as Rose wrung her hair. The TARDIS did the rest once she stepped through the arch dryer, the Doctor waiting for her, holding open a button-up, tartan night shirt. A thoroughly unsexy nightshirt that was too big. She shrugged it on anyway, threading her arms into the sleeves as he draped it over her shoulders, then claimed the buttoning duties. 

She wasn’t going to grumble. She was too tired for a bout of oral sex anyway. Probably couldn’t have gotten off and they’d both’ve been frustrated. 

“Come on,” he said. “Time to tuck you in.”

Her bed looked freshly made. The comforter was taut and pillows back in place. No sign of cut ropes. The Doctor’s remaining clothes were neatly folded on a chair. The necklace was waiting for her, though, on the nightstand where he’d left it. 

He drew back the covers inviting her in. 

She ought to get a pair of knickers from her drawer. If she went knickerless she had a tendency to touch herself all night long. But that wouldn’t really be a problem tonight and she was still hopeful he wanted lick her.

Rose got into bed trying to recreate the blank, mindless state of her Doctor washing her hair. Without anxiety or wet frustration she could feel building between her thighs. She’d cum, she’d been well fucked and yet there she went, the throb returning along with a trickle. There he went, shifting off the bed. 

She expected he’d pull up the covers, turn out the light, bid her fond adieu. She heard his zipper, the drop of his trousers leaving him in his shorts.

“They’re wet,” he said, defensive.

“Your pants wet, too?” Rose asked as he hooked his fingers into the elastic. Changed his mind about it though, and instead of dropping trou he climbed into bed with her.

“This okay?” he asked.

“More than,” Rose replied, taking hold of his hand and putting it over her hip. He promptly took the hint and snuggled in closer.

Bunched up the fabric covering her hip. Licked his lips.

“You know, if I had pants on, they’d be wet right now, too,” Rose said.

“Would they?”

“Yeah. And if you wanted a late-night snack, you best have it now before I’m too tired.”

He disappeared under the covers, shoving up the ugly nightshirt. Her legs fell open and his mouth fell upon her. He ate her without reservation, like the proverbial starved man, wide and with pressure and an untamed tongue that did not mince about. No teasing, straight to the point. His hands cradled her thighs, her hips.

“Close,” she whispered sooner than she thought it’d take after the night they’d had. “So close, so close.”

She murmured his name as she came, a softer but no less pleasant orgasm than when she wore her pendant, and bucked into him though he tried holding her.

Spent, utterly, utterly spent, Rose’s body fell limp as she gasped for breath. How could doing nothing steal her breath like this? The Doctor crawled up her body, head popping back out from under the cover, his precious hair askew, eyes dark. Licking his lips.

Rose pulled him down to her, her hot lips parting to taste herself, to finally taste him. Too much like she would with a casual lover. He gasped into her open mouth, body tensing. 

Rose released him, “Sorry! Carried away.”

He captured her apology with lips and a lot of talented tongue, backing off to pepper kisses as Rose whimpered. 

“Don’t apologize. I told you I didn’t want play.”

Rose was stunned. 

He coughed, clearing his throat, “This,” he motioned between them, “isn’t for play. It’s not pretend, Rose. I’d like it if, if—”

“We could be closer?” Rose asked. “All the time. Unstructured.”

“Yeah.”

“Snog buddies.”

He kissed her.

“And cuddle buddies,” she added. The Doctor nuzzled his nose to hers, tightened his hold around her hip.

“And bedtime buddies and bath buddies?” she asked.

“All those, yes.”

Rose closed her eyes. Tired and sore and sublimely happy, too. She cleared her throat. “We can still play, yes?”

He chucked. “Anything you wish, Dame Rose.”

Rose nestled against his chest, giving over to sleep at last. “Yes, Sir Doctor.”


End file.
